Lamron (Part Four)
VoicesI cannot remember the specific first time I heard voices. I do remember some first times. It is the sort of thing that once you realize is is happening, you also realize it has been happening subtly for some time.
There were days where in my silence I heard whispers. I did not recognize them as whispers at first. They were noises interrupting my thoughts. Something perceived from the outside and far away. If you have ever heard your neighbors talking next door, you see them, but only hear a sound every now and then. You know the sound is a word, but you cannot distinguish it. That is how I remember the voices beginning.
Sometimes I would awake at night and not know why. Then I would hear a whisper. This scared me. I thought maybe I was being haunted by some ghost. Maybe an angel or maybe a demon was talking to me. I was fifteen when these things started.
My brother and I shared a room. Once I woke him to ask if he heard the noise. He told me I was crazy and went back to sleep. I learned to keep it to myself. I figured it was some kind of punishment for something I did or did not do.
When I would wake at night and the whispers began I could sometimes ignore them by praying. I would ask for forgiveness and ask God to make the whispers stop. I remember lying in my bed with my heart pounding. My family was asleep throughout the house, but what was disturbing me was not disturbing them. I was alone in this and many nights I trembled. The whispers got louder and more frequent. Then for no reason they would stop and I would not hear them for days or weeks.
If something happens enough, you get used to it and I was able to take the voices in stride. They still scared me occasionally but I could handle it.
I remember the first time I answered one of the voices. I was attending seminary in New Orleans studying to be a minister. It was a beautiful October morning and I was twenty-three years old. I was sitting in a classroom that held one-hundred students. The desks were arranged in four long rows and were on risers. It was an old building but freshly painted. The back of the classroom was all windows and one could turn and look out at the mature pecan trees and oaks with the spanish moss moving with the breeze. The grass was green and the sky was the brilliant blue of autumn.
I was taking a test and the only sounds were the occasional coughs and sneezes punctuated by pages rustling and erasers rubbing off mistaken attempts to answer questions. Some people would blow the eraser debris off the page and others gave it a quick two swipes with their hand. It was in this setting that I heard my name called vividly and within the room. "Lamron." Out of reflex I responded, "what." When I spoke I realized the difference in voices. My voice sounded real. The voice I heard cal my name now seemed like a dream. Moments before it sounded real. There were a few snickers and the grader looked up at me from his desk. The professors never came to the class to administer a test, that task was left to the grader. I shrugged and most people probably thought I was trying to be funny. I knew that I was going to have to work harder and be on better guard to conceal my secret.
Love and KindnessWhen I look back over my life I recall times when I felt loved. There were a few times when I loved though it was not returned. I have experienced many acts of kindness. It saddens me though that many times I received a kindness, I did not properly thank the actor. Sometimes I rejected the kindness fearing motives that were not real. Mostly what I have experienced are feelings of disconnection, feeling invisible, and superfluous.
I think we all have experiences that give meaning to our feelings. When I think of love and acceptance and the comfort that goes with that, I think of how I felt when I was a little boy of six or seven. I remember our family being in the living room watching television. I was sitting next to my mother on the couch and I was leaning on her. Her arm was around me and as I drifted off to sleep I felt a kind of warmth and peace I have never equated. I remember the gentle rise and fall of her breathing rocking me to sleep, her voice was distorted to me when she spoke because one of my ears was pressed to her side. Her hand gently caressed me and patted me.
There were other times. Once with my father. We were walking at night in the winter. Probably coming home from a neighbor's house and I was wearing my pajamas under my winter coat. My father was carrying me. I told him I was cold and he held me up to his mouth and breathed warm air into my coat. That feeling of being carried and having him provide warmth was complete comfort.
There is a point in life when we have to seek out love and kindness for ourselves. Babies do not have to do anything. People naturally go to them. They pick them up and hold them to their chests. They speak kindly and pour feelings of love all over them. As we grow, this becomes less frequent. People do not see the need or feel it is appropriate to walk up to someone and pour feelings of love on them. We make exceptions for sports figures and movie stars. It is OK to walk up to them and tell them how much they are loved and pour out those feelings of goodwill.
I do not know exactly what happened to me. I found myself in a situation where I wanted the feeling of love and acceptance and to feel connected, but I was mostly afraid of people. I did not feel comfortable around other people. I do not think they were comfortable around me either. I withdrew and resigned myself to the fact that this is how it is. I had to rely on my memories. I knew that at one time I was loved and I held on to that.
This is all I have. The rest is in my head. Not to leave you hanging though, here is what I plan to do. The next chapter will begin as Lamron wakes up in a psychiatric hospital seclusion room. He will describe coming out of the fog of psychosis. As this occurs, you will learn of the process of a hospitalization. As Lamron talks to different doctors and therapists he will describe his life. The bulk of the book will be this hospitalization. What will happen to Lamron once he is discharged? You will have to wait for that. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get to work writing "Lamron."
Until the next time
John Strain
Thursday, January 29, 2004 at 5:18AM 
I am amazed at how things often work out. One may lose some money by some strange circumstance, but then acquire unexpected funds the next day. When friends are involved, even more bizarre twists are possible. For instance . . .
